


post-modern fad

by smartlike



Category: Popslash
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Post-Apocalypse, M/M, RPF
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-15
Updated: 2013-09-15
Packaged: 2017-12-26 14:43:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/967158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smartlike/pseuds/smartlike
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It takes Justin five months to decide to stop trying to remember. Before that, he spends a lot of time curled up on the couch in Trace's tiny room, eyes shut as tight as possible, half asleep and searching his mind for memories. But there are none. Occasional flashes of places, long tall grass, crisp cold air or pink satin sheets. No people. No moments. Nothing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	post-modern fad

**Author's Note:**

> Beta by apaintedmaypole.  
> Originally posted at http://www.obsessivetendencies.net/pmp/

_hijacking your equilibrium_

First there's a big bang, a shock of light and then everyone's screaming, but not in the way they're supposed to be. Justin is pushed down, crouches behind a drum kit. After that there's nothing and when Justin finally wakes up, he's standing on a dark street corner in line behind a short man with hair darker than the night. He blinks and looks around. 

"The fuck?" 

He's in a city. He thinks, anyway. There are people milling everywhere, some walking without any real sense of purpose, but most just standing. There are tall buildings all around them, but they're all broken. Just empty shells, some with no walls, some with one or two and a floor in the middle here and there. The sidewalk he's standing on is in front of a smaller brick building. It seems to have four walls. Justin steps out of line and cranes his neck to see around all the people waiting for whatever. Up ahead there's a door and a thin blonde girl handing out papers of some kind. People take them, talk to her for varying lengths of time and then move slowly away. 

Justin turns and looks behind him. The line stretches for blocks. Everyone's wearing strange mis-matched outfits that look sort of old, like. Justin blinks. He can't really figure out where he's seen the clothes before. And he realizes, suddenly as he tries to locate the memory, that he seems to be missing a lot of information. His name is Justin and he knows what a city's supposed to look like and that this isn't it, but he doesn't know any of the people around him, doesn't know any people at all, no names, no faces, no voices and he starts to breathe faster, blinking rapidly and chewing at his lower lip. He's panicking and there's a whole part of him that has no idea why he's upset. 

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," he mutters and he's crying, tears streaming down his cheeks and sobs shaking his shoulders. The people in the line near him look and murmur and finally the guy in front of him notices Justin. 

"Aw, shit." The guy turns and looks down the line. "Does anyone know this guy?" 

Justin stares at him through the tears. He wants to run away, but maybe someone will answer, maybe someone knows him and can explain things. No one answers and Justin digs his fingernails into his palm. They're cut off short and even, though and don't even sting a little. 

The guy rolls his eyes. "Fuck, people. I think this guy just woke up, so someone has to be meeting him. Autos can't pick up stamps." He looks around, but still, no one answers. 

Justin has no idea what the guy's talking about, but he seems to be trying to help, so Justin nudges a little closer to him and wipes one hand at his eyes, tries to control his breathing. He opens his mouth, not sure what to say. "I'm Justin. I don't know where I am." 

The guy puts a hand on his arm. "Yeah, I know. It's okay. We'll find whoever left you here." He smiles, tips his head and looks Justin up and down. "I'm Chris." 

The line moves and there's a gap between Chris and the guy in front of him. Justin tips his head at it and Chris turns, moves forward and pulls Justin with him. 

"Do you know what happened? To me, I mean? Or," Justin looks around. "I don't think this is supposed to look like it does." 

Chris laughs, short and sharp. "Nah, I think you're right." Chris inhales and looks around. "There was a thing. I don't know what. Do you remember the explosion?" Justin closes his eyes and sees bright lights, faces disappearing into darkness. He nods and Chris continues. "Yeah. I don't know what happened after, but people changed. We were all like, asleep. Some people still are. You just woke up." 

Justin squints, confused. His eyes ache, an occasional tear still slipping out and over his cheeks. 

Chris shakes his head. "Yeah, never mind. It's all fine. Or, you know, not at all, but we'll figure something out." 

Justin pushes at Chris's shoulder and they move up again. Justin can almost see the door and he's trying to ask where they are when a kid comes up behind him. The guy's short, shorter than Chris even. His skin is dark brown and Justin's not sure if it's dirt or a tan or what. He's grinning and smoking a tiny hand-rolled cigarette. 

"Dude, Trace, did you bring this guy here?" Chris asks the kid. 

The guy-- Trace?-- blows smoke in Justin's direction and Justin coughs. "Yeah, I had to see someone. I figured he could hold my place. You got a problem with that?" 

"I didn't even know you were still in town." Trace shrugs and Chris waits as if he expects an answer, but there isn't one. He scowls. "Well, whatever, he fucking woke up, you asshole." The guy blinks at Chris and drops his cigarette to the ground. "Yeah. Crying and shit." 

"Damn." The guy turns, stares at him and Justin wants to cry again. "What's your name?" 

"Justin." 

"Justin." The guy nods. "I would'a guessed like, Brandon or something. But that works." 

Justin doesn't really understand what that means, but it makes him smile, which is not quite crying and that's a nice feeling. "Who are you?" 

"I'm Trace. You've been living with me. Since like--" Trace pauses and turns to Chris. "What the hell month is it?" 

Chris shrugs. "Stamps say it's March." 

"Okay, so since, like, late January. You showed up at my friend Steve's with a girl, but she left. We figured it'd be useful to have an auto around." Trace reaches into his jeans and pulls out another crumpled cigarette. He rolls it around between his fingers for a second and looks back up at Justin, smiling. "No one, you know, hurt you or anything though. Promise." 

Chris snorts. "Fucking saint Trace. How the hell'd you keep the assholes who hang out at Steve's away from him?" 

Trace shrugs. "I have some things saved up." He looks back at Justin. "I thought he might be cool if he ever woke up." 

Justin smiles again. He doesn't know this guy, but he believes him. He doesn't know why, but at this point, that's just one more thing. "Well, I'll try to live up to expectations." His tears are drying on his cheek. 

Trace and Chris both laugh and after a second Justin joins them. His laugh is loud and hurts his throat. 

** 

_what is lost can never be saved_

It takes Justin five months to decide to stop trying to remember. Before that, he spends a lot of time curled up on the couch in Trace's tiny room, eyes shut as tight as possible, half asleep and searching his mind for memories. But there are none. Occasional flashes of places, long tall grass, crisp cold air or pink satin sheets. No people. No moments. Nothing. 

Trace gets him a notebook. He gives JC a cd for it and acts like it's no big deal, but Justin hasn't seen any other cds, so he thanks him and washes all their clothes for two weeks. Between the faded lines on the yellowed paper, Justin keeps a list of things he knows without trying to remember. 

"Justin" and "23". Those are the first things he writes down. Also that he likes peach cobbler, that his favorite song is "A Rush of Blood to the Head", that he owns 567 pairs of sneakers. Justin writes that one and then crosses out "owns" and writes "owned". Justin also knows he used to be "famous", but he's not sure what that means. His list fills seven and three-quarter pages and then he decides the entire exercise is stupid. He knows a lot of things, but he doesn't remember any and writing isn't gonna change that. 

He tosses the notebook on the floor and stands up. Trace is in the corner, reading an old magazine with a motorcycle on the cover. He looks up and raises his eyebrows. "What's up?" 

"This is stupid." Justin waves his hand at his head. "I'm not gonna remember anything, am I?" 

Trace shrugs. "Chris has been awake longer than anyone I know and he doesn't remember shit." 

Justin frowns. He hasn't seen Chris in a few weeks. "Where is he, anyway?" 

"Don't know. C said he saw him at Pharrell's last big meeting, but, I don't know." 

Justin paces the fifteen steps across the room and then back. "What's Pharrell's deal, anyway?" 

Trace laughs and sets his magazine upside down on his lap. "Pharrell's deal is aliens. He thinks there were aliens and we were slaves and there's stuff about a master race and biological warfare and something else completely insane." 

Justin frowns. That all sounds familiar. He wonders if he knows Pharrell. Or, knew him. 

Trace laughs again and reaches into a box on the table next to him for a cigarette. "I think he watched the fucking _X-Files_ too much back whenever." Trace lights a match and looks up at Justin. "Do you know that show?" 

Justin thinks for a second. Aliens, Mulder, Scully. He nods. "I don't believe in that stuff." 

Trace lights his cigarette, nodding. "It's crap." He grins up at Justin. "But, what isn't these days?" 

Justin doesn't know the answer to that, so he shrugs and kicks his notebook under the couch. 

** 

_only in your head you feel left out_

Pharrell has a big meeting in an abandoned post office building and Justin asks Chris to take him. Chris nods, flips Trace off before he can call Pharrell a wackjob and Justin follows him out the door. 

"So do you believe the stuff he says?" 

Chris shrugs, kicks a rock ahead of him on the sidewalk. "Maybe. He's got some things right, I'm sure. Mostly, I don't not believe him and the meetings are something to do." 

Justin nods and slows his steps down to match Chris's. "Cool." He scratches at his arm and wrinkles his nose at the sour milk smell of the air. It smells like that sometimes, after it rains or when it's too hot. Justin doesn't like it, but it always passes. 

Chris talks some more about Pharrell, his ideas, the way he gets an entire room full of people to do whatever he wants and they all leave with a new energy and excitement. Justin thinks it sounds interesting, but there's a nagging worry somewhere in the back of his head. 

"What does he do, though? Besides the meetings?" 

Chris twists his lips into something like a scowl. "You know, J, I don't know. He's got like, a group, some guys who follow him around and they have other meetings and someone said they're responsible for that warehouse that got looted over on Pippin Street, but." 

They're at the post office, or what's left of it anyway. Two walls and half of another under the twilight blue sky. There's a cluster of people standing by the makeshift entrance and they nod at Chris as he and Justin pass by. Everyone else is grouped around an empty stage, talking and shouting and looking by turns angry and excited. Justin sees JC and Lance in front and to the right and points at them. Chris nods and they head over. 

"--I just don't think the stamp system makes sense. Who said they could run it? Why do we all just follow along like it's the best idea ever?" JC runs his hand through his hair and pulls at the ends, separates a few strands that are sticking together. 

Lance sighs and waves at Justin and Chris. "Because, JC, Lou owns the fucking warehouses. It's his shit, he gets to decide." 

"Why does he own them? Does anyone remember him buying them? Does he have deeds?" 

Chris rolls his eyes at Justin. "C, man, no one remembers anything. He's got guns. That sort of beats out a fucking deed any day." 

JC shakes his head and looks disappointed. "That's crap." 

Justin thinks the stamp system works pretty well. He got a new t-shirt at one of Lou's sales the other day and the blonde working the counter smiled and said she liked his hair. He doesn't say this, though, figures JC won't appreciate it. He's going on about ownership and property and something else he probably read in a book that he doesn't remember reading six years ago, a book that didn't matter to whatever life he had six years ago. 

Justin kicks at Chris's foot and points. "That's Pharrell?" 

A small man is walking onto the stage, shorts hanging off his hips and a faded tattoo on his neck. Chris nods and everyone gets quiet. 

"Yo." Pharrell scans the crowd, waving at people here and there and nodding. There's a light jangling beat coming from somewhere, even though Justin doesn't see any speakers. "What's up?" 

The crowd shouts back, no words Justin can understand. He looks around and sees some people he knows, friends of Trace's and the sales girl from the other day. She sees him and smiles before looking back at Pharrell. 

He starts talking, singsong and low so that Justin has to strain to hear. He doesn't talk about aliens, but about people and connections and spirituality and making the most out of small moments. All the things that Justin tried so hard to remember and couldn't. Justin thinks he understands Pharrell's appeal. He listens and he chants along with everyone else and it's exciting to see so many people all together, like something's happening. 

But afterwards, when Pharrell is gone and Justin can see the stars above him as they file out, it just feels like a cheap replacement for all the people he doesn't remember knowing. He's not disappointed, but it wasn't what Justin expected and he doesn't know if he'll come back. JC and Lance, though, they're excited and as they walk out of the building they talk about what they learned and they're holding hands and leaning into each other. JC whispers in Lance's ear and trails a finger across his lips. Lance laughs and Justin's not surprised when they say they've got to go home. He looks at Chris and they raise their eyebrows at the same moment. 

"I bet they have incredible sex." Chris sounds somewhere between annoyed and jealous. Justin blinks and Chris waves his hand around. "I mean, they're either fucking or fighting and that's usually--" He shrugs. 

Justin doesn't know what to say to that. He thinks Chris is wrong, knows he disagrees in the same way he knows what roses smell like even though he hasn't seen any since waking up. Which is the same thing as never, but he still knows. So he just looks back and sees Lance and JC walking quickly away, getting smaller with every step. 

"So," Chris says when Justin looks back. "Do you know how to get home?" 

Justin looks around, recognizes the broken sign of what used to be a 7-11 and the stretch of squat concrete buildings that follow it. It's about a half mile to Trace's house and Justin walks it at least three times a week. He shakes his head. "You mind?" 

Chris turns and starts walking back toward Trace's. "Nope." He smiles and points as they pass the 7-11. "I'd kill for a Coke, man." 

Justin knows he doesn't like Coke, but maybe if he could try it now, he'd change his mind, so he nods. "That'd be sweet." 

"What'd you think?" 

Justin shrugs. "I don't know. It wasn't like-- I thought it was cool until after." 

Chris nods. "Kind of a let-down. Yeah." He looks up at the sky and then over at Justin. "Like I said, it's something to do. Better than sitting in my room, you know?" 

Justin actually likes Chris's room. He was there twice, a few months after he woke up. He almost never left the apartment then, but Chris had some beer he'd gotten for some work he'd done and he invited Justin over to share it. It was warmer than Trace's and the alcohol made it even warmer. The room was so small they had to huddle together on the twin bed, but Justin didn't mind. 

The second time he wandered over when Trace made him leave, because he thought Justin needed to do something other than sleep at least occasionally. Chris opened the door and blinked, surprised, but he smiled and offered Justin a glass of red sweet liquid. "Kool-Aid," he said. They talked about basketball-- Justin couldn't remember any players, but he knew a whole catalogue of games and important moves-- and were just moving on to another topic when JC and Lance showed up. Then there were too many people for the space and they only stayed a few more minutes before Chris said they should all just go outside together. Justin wonders if maybe that's why he doesn't really like them. 

"How's Trace's?" Chris looks over at him and Justin wonders how long he was thinking to himself. 

He smiles. "It's nice. He gets good food." Justin looks at Chris out of the corner of his eye. His hair's a little longer on top than it was when they first met. Justin wants to run his hand through it, thinks it would look good messier. He doesn't, just looks down at the ground. "You should come to dinner this week. Lance and JC are coming." 

Chris looks over and he's not smiling. "Maybe." 

Justin frowns. "Trace got meat. Ham or something, I think." 

Chris smiles at that. "Ooooh, tempting the man with free meat. I guess I can't resist that." 

Justin takes the turn for Trace's street before Chris and if Chris notices, he doesn't say anything, just walks alongside him, making jokes all the way to Trace's front door. 

** 

_the shadow weighs a ton_

It was incredibly hot for two months straight-- summer, Justin knows-- and the sticky humidity hung in the air like a blanket over Justin's head. He cut the sleeves off all of his t-shirts and JC decided it looked cool and did the same thing. But now the heat is breaking, cut into shreds by crisp wind that browns the leaves and raises goosebumps on Justin's exposed arms when they sit outside at night and Lance brings JC a sweater. 

Trace pulls out his lighter and they make a small fire in the empty lot next to Chris's apartment house. Really, they're all empty lots, Chris's just happens to have a roof over it and walls on two sides. Justin knows he and Trace are lucky to live in a nicer place, but he still hangs out at Chris's whenever he can. They're slowly working their way through a bottle of whiskey that Trace found in an old truck down by the river and Chris is telling stories about when he first woke up. 

"So, like, there's four of us. Me and Richardson, some tatted up thug who barely spoke English and Puff. We were just wandering all over town and I had no idea what was happening. I didn't remember anything and almost everyone was still asleep." Chris takes a sip from the bottle and passes it to Justin, their knuckles brushing. "It took Kev, like, six weeks to put shit together from some old books he found, but I guess it was an experiment?" 

Justin wraps his fingers around the neck of the bottle and listens to Chris's voice. He's not sure he cares what it was like before he woke up. He knows he'll never remember any of it, so it doesn't matter. But he likes to listen to Chris talk, so he takes a long sip before passing the bottle on and the warmth is nice as it coats his throat. 

"You always say that, an experiment. What does that even mean?" JC leans forward and holds his hands above the fire. Justin wonders if maybe they'll burst into flame. 

Chris shrugs. "I don't know. Biological warfare? Something that they fucked up and so everyone was like a fucking robot. They'd do whatever we told them. And you know, we all spent some time going around, sort of collecting whoever woke up and then Kev met Lou and I haven't talked to him since. He kept all the books." 

"Was Lou asleep? Or does he know what happened?" 

Justin goes back and forth between thinking JC's fixation on Lou and changing the system is interesting and admirable and thinking he never ever wants to hear the phrase "proletariat revolution" again. At least Lance looks just as annoyed as Justin feels. Maybe if he gets really pissed they'll go off and fuck on the rain soaked, sex stained couch two lots over and then JC will stop interrupting Chris's story. 

"C, man, I told you I know fuck all about Lou and his empire or whatever. Who the hell wants to be emperor of this place, anyway?" 

JC starts to argue and he has a new source or something who swears he knows where Lou lives and that he's been collecting autos to try to start up a factory and that's why there aren't any around anymore. Lance interrupts, says maybe they all just woke up. It turns into an argument after only a few minutes. Justin figures Chris won't get to talk again tonight. He glances over at him and Chris rolls his eyes then nods at Trace, who's a few feet away from the fire, licking the neck of Chris's neighbor, Marcy or Mandy or something, eyes closed. 

Justin nods and reaches over to take the whiskey from Trace's hands. He grunts a little, but just rearranges his hands on Mandy or Marcy's waist. Justin takes a sip and offers the bottle to Chris. Chris leans over to get it, too close and Justin inhales yeast and the generic soap they all use. He licks his lips as he hands over the whiskey. 

"Thanks." Chris whispers, not moving. He takes a tiny sip and there's barely any left. He looks at Justin, who shakes his head. On the other side of Chris, Lance is shouting that revolution doesn't help anything and JC is pulling at his hair and staring at Lance's lips as they move. Chris only glances at them before tipping his head back and draining the bottle. 

Justin shifts a little, settling his weight and flexing his foot so it doesn't fall asleep. Chris sets the bottle on the ground and leans even closer, until he's resting on Justin's shoulder. Justin holds his breath and smiles into the fire. 

** 

_the best thing that you never had_

Justin waits outside the bathroom door and runs his hand through his hair. He feels itchy and uncomfortable and he doesn't mind that they don't have a lot of water, but sometimes all he wants is a real shower. He knows that he used to take two or three a day, hot and sharp against his skin. Now, it's four minutes under a lukewarm spray and his hair always feels limp and slick. He pulls at a curl and frowns, wonders if he should just cut it off. Trace comes out, flicks his towel at Justin's ass. Justin moves and misses most of the slap, but the damp cotton still scratches his skin. 

His shower is quick and nothing he wants, so he comes out still restless. Trace is sprawled on the couch staring out the one little window and chewing on a toothpick. "I'm outta smokes. You wanna go to Steve's with me?" 

Justin nods. "God, yes." He pulls on his shoes and a thick sweater he bought for ten stamps at the warehouse, even though it was too hot to need it, just because it's a shade of light blue that he likes. He's glad he has it now. 

They walk a few blocks, quickly, and Trace takes a right that Justin isn't expecting. "I thought Steve's was downtown." 

"Well, you know, sort of." Trace takes another sharp right and Justin's never been in this part of town before, but it looks just like all the rest. 

Trace looks over at him, pulls the toothpick out of his mouth and tilts his head. "Seen Chris lately?" 

Justin swallows, shakes his head. "Not since he got back or--" Justin shrugs. Chris left, went "out of town" and Justin has no idea what that means. Well, he knows what it means, but he doesn't know where someone goes now and Chris didn't offer any explanation. "He is back, right?" 

Trace nods. "I saw him at JC's last reading thing. When you were sick?" 

Justin was sick for three days, something like the flu and he knew to eat chicken soup and drink orange juice, but Trace couldn't get those things. He isn't on the stamp list anymore; no one knows why, but it means it was ham sandwiches and Kool-Aid from Pharrell's donation bank. Justin got better anyway, so he guesses that the soup thing isn't quite true. He kicks at a broken bottle on the street in front of him. 

Trace coughs. "He didn't come by and see you?" 

Justin shakes his head. "He might have, when I was out or something." Justin doesn't believe it even as he says it. 

He wonders if he's ever experienced something like this before, the constant twisting in his stomach when he remembers Chris and notices he isn't around. He hopes he hasn't, wishes he weren't now and almost thinks not remembering would be better. At least that's something that's familiar. 

"Whatever, it doesn't matter." He looks over at Trace and then up at the sky, light grey streaking through dark grey and Justin looks down at his sweater instead. "I might go see that sales girl chick. Britney?" Justin says it like it's somehow related to Chris, but decides not to think about why. 

Trace nods. "She's hot." He stops in front of a red brick building. "Here." 

They walk up a driveway littered with trash and Trace pushes the door open without knocking. "Hey?" he calls. There's a skittering noise in the shadows of the room and then a shout from the back. Trace tips his head in that direction. "I'll be back." 

Justin leans against the wall and then stands up straight. He hears the skittering again and moves towards a light that he thinks is the hallway. It is and he hovers in a doorway, looking left and right. There are voices to the left and maybe music and Justin takes three steps that way. 

"What are you doing here?" 

Justin turns around and there's a woman leaning out of another door, only a few feet away. Her hair is pulled up into a ponytail, but one pumpkin-colored curl is trailing over her neck. She smiles and Justin can smell thick perfume and cigarette smoke. 

"Sorry, I'm, um. My friend's talking to someone back there." Justin points over his shoulder and lets his eyes scan over the woman's body. "I don't, um. I've never been here before." 

The woman smiles sweet, but Justin licks his own lips and tastes something sharp and tart. "Steve sells stuff." She looks him up and down. "You're Trace's friend?" 

Justin nods. "You know him?" 

She snorts. "Yeah. And you, I met you when you were an auto." Justin blinks. He's almost forgotten about that. Not that he remembers, but about how all these people knew him when he didn't know anything at all. He wonders what it was like. "You were sweet, hon. But I'm glad you woke up. More fun that way." 

"Um, thanks." Justin watches as she twists the loose curl around her finger and trails her hand over her neck and down her chest. 

"So, you're not here to buy anything?" Justin shakes his head. "You sure? I've got some sweets that Steve brought me. Chocolate." 

Justin knows he likes chocolate. Dark chocolate, thick, melting under his tongue and slicking across his teeth. He doesn't have enough of anything to trade for what she's offering, though. Her hand is hovering over her breast and Justin knows he's allowed to look, that she wants him to look, but it still makes his skin hot and he turns away after just a second. 

She laughs, low and mocking. "Okay, sweetie. Too bad, though." She stretches her back a little. "You're cute. You tell Trace I said hi now." She's gone as quickly as she showed up and Justin blinks, wonders if he saw anything at all. 

Trace comes back only a minute later and taps Justin's shoulder, pushing him back into the front room. He looks at Justin and laughs. "You met Lynn." They go back outside and Justin hears more skittering before the door slams closed. 

"Is that her name?" Trace nods and pulls a cigarette from behind his ear. Justin kicks his foot against the step and watches Trace light the cigarette and take the first drag. "She's a--" Justin doesn't know which word to use. "Whore?" 

Trace shrugs. "Yeah, sorta. They sell stuff. Someone said they were married or something, but I don't think you can get married anymore." 

Trace offers Justin the cigarette and he takes it, the paper crinkling under his fingertips. The smoke is heavy in his mouth, but smooth down his throat. He breathes deep and gives the cigarette back to Trace. 

"She doesn't sleep with people she doesn't want to." 

Justin nods. He knows he likes sex. He knows how to do it, with boys and with girls. Knows he did it a lot in the past, four times in a row, once and he knows that's cool. But he can't remember anyone he ever had sex with and so it's weird to think about. 

"Steve just got back from a raid. He's with this group, I think maybe they work with Pharrell, but he can't get his name involved and shit." Trace hands over the cigarette again. "Anyway, they steal shit and Steve unloads it. If you ever need anything and I'm not around, he's your guy." 

Justin wonders what it'd be like if Trace weren't around and thinks he'd have to learn how to miss someone all over again. Then he thinks of Chris and takes another drag before returning the cigarette. 

** 

_you know what I thought I knew_

Three weeks later, Justin comes back to Trace's and finds Chris sitting on the sagging front porch. He thinks for seven seconds about being contrary and irritable, but knows that won't last, so he smiles and Chris stands up. 

"Justin." Chris is wearing a long-sleeved shirt with a picture on it, what looks like a wooden man playing piano. Justin knows how to play piano, but he hasn't seen one anywhere here. "What's up?" 

"Nothing." Justin's coming from seeing Britney. They met in the stamp office and Justin ripped her faded pink blouse and fucked her against a desk. It's a thing he's been doing to pass the time. He can still smell her on his clothes and skin, like dust and spices. "Where've you been?" 

Chris shrugs. "Around. I got back awhile ago. I had this--" Chris waves his hand at nothing, slides the tip of his sneaker back and forth in a dip in one of the porch planks. "You know, I've been awake for almost eighteen months now. Longer than anyone I know. It's just--" He looks down, sucks in air and then up at Justin. "I heard you were sick?" 

Justin nods, remembers the chalky feeling in his mouth and the constant heat of the fever. "Sucked, man." He fingers the three sheets of stamps folded and tucked in his pocket. He can't decide how much he should push at whatever Chris is hiding under his stuttered words and incomplete thoughts. Finally he simply says, "How was your trip?" 

A flicker of a frown flows over Chris's face, his eyes narrowing and brow creasing with it. Then he inhales and rolls his neck from side to side. "The same as always. Nothing new." 

Justin thinks about asking where Chris went, why, if he saw someone or did something. Justin's not sure if he wants to know, though. Instead, he thinks of Britney, soft moans hot on his neck and the feel of winter cold air on his ass. "Missed you." He looks straight at Chris when he says it. 

Chris smiles and it holds. "Yeah?" Justin nods, pulls his hand out of his pocket and rests it on his stomach. "Me too." 

There's a twisting, somewhere underneath Justin's hand, but it's not sharp, just warm and slow, like the rush of doing a somersault, flipping over and over, defying physics. 

Chris hugs himself and looks at the front door. "It's fucking freezing." Justin takes the two steps up to the porch in one long stride. He wraps his hand over Chris's and rubs a little. "Trace home?" 

Justin doesn't know, but he shakes his head and pushes Chris in the door and up the stairs, steering him around the hole in the center of the fifth step. The door to Trace's room opens easily, but he isn't there and Justin grins at Chris. Chris grins back and pulls the shirt over his head, the piano disappearing. 

Justin scrubs his hands over Chris's skin, erasing things, gathering new scents. He thinks of Chris that first day, bleary through tears, dark and solid. Chris is the first person Justin remembers knowing and he explores every inch of skin Chris offers him. Chris kisses him and it's sort of like waking up all over again, but Justin waits until he's pressing Chris to the couch before he starts crying, and then only a few drops of salt that fall on Chris's back for Justin to lick away. It's quick, too quick and Justin knows that he should probably be embarrassed, but he doesn't bother. Justin balances on his arms while Chris rolls over, breathing heavy, but laughing, too. 

"Were you crying?" 

"Fuck you." Justin settles against Chris's chest and runs his hand over a tattoo on his abdomen. "When did you get this?" It doesn't look faded, and Justin traces the curving lines of the letter "c". 

"After. We all got something, Kev and Puff and I. The other guy did them. We wanted something we hadn't forgotten." 

Justin looks down at his leg, sees the marks there and they don't mean anything special at all. He used to wonder about them, but now Chris's fingers are tracing a small bite mark on Justin's neck and Justin knows that no matter what the pictures meant, that means more. 

** 

_cash in on my good thing_

JC and Lance aren't living together anymore. JC left on a Friday and when he came back, Lance was gone. He says he's sick of the attitude and if JC's gonna actually start fucking around with Pharrell's revolutionary bullshit, Lance doesn't want to end up on the wrong side of any lists Lou might be keeping. JC thinks anyone who's not with the revolution is against it and he starts fucking some coked out blonde girl who hands out flyers at the meetings. Justin doesn't understand what either of them are talking about when they say revolution, and he gets the feeling they don't either. 

Justin hasn't seen JC since and it's not something he misses. Every once in a while Chris will mention seeing him, but Chris doesn't really go to meetings anymore. The last time he thought about going, Justin folded his knees and dropped kisses over Chris's tattoo and slowly, slowly lower until Chris was backed against the wall, fingers clenched in Justin's curls, words full of hard sounds trickling out of his mouth. Afterwards, Justin remembered Pharrell talking about connections and spirituality and he decided Pharrell was full of shit. 

Still, Justin likes Lance and he goes to visit him one night when Chris is doing some work, filing papers for the apartment registry. He was going to go to Trace's, but he's out, so he decides to go see Lance's new place. It's closer to downtown and it's nice, better than where he lived with JC. It used to be a store of some sort and there's an entire row of glass walls still standing, leading into a cooler with a roof and all the walls intact. The rest of the store just has two, but there's a roof and Lance thinks it'll be a nice place to sit out when it gets warmer. Justin nods his agreement and sips at the tea Lance offers him. 

They talk about Chris's new job and Lance thinks the registry is a great idea, set up some ownership for people, stop the fights that break out between squatters. 

"You know Joey? He registered a whole block of buildings and he's gonna trade some stuff he's collected to get people to fix 'em up." 

"He used to work at the stamp office, right?" Justin asks. Lance nods. "That's cool. What's he gonna do with them after? Let people move in?" 

Lance nods again. "It's a good project, I'm gonna help out. Work on one of the buildings or maybe recruit people." Justin swirls the tea around in his cup and discreetly checks his watch. "'Cause that's the thing, you know, there's no order. Everyone's just living in these shacks and running around doing nothing. I know that's wrong." 

Justin thinks about it. He knows that people are supposed to work and want things to be better, but it's like everything else-- he doesn't know why he knows it, so he can't be sure he should believe it. "You really think so?" 

Lance's eyes are wide and sincere. "It's what C doesn't get. I just, it's not worth it, you know?" Lance rubs a hand over his neck, kneading. "It sucks here, but we may as well make the most of it, set up a system. His revolution stuff, it's pointless. I mean, anarchy? Isn't that what we have right now?" 

Justin shrugs. "He just wants a reason." Lance tilts his head, waiting to hear more. "Like, we don't remember anything. None of our relationships go back more than, what, fourteen, fifteen months?" 

"He woke up after me, so, a year." 

"Exactly." Justin swallows the last of his tea and plucks a small piece of leaf off his tongue. "He's like, frustrated and he just wants something to do, to have this be about something. A reason." 

Lance is still rubbing his neck and he frowns. Finally, he nods. "I think I wanted--" He puts his cup down. "Can't I be the reason?" 

Justin bites his lips and doesn't answer, just thinks of rough skin that smells of soap and hands in his hair. When he leaves, he feels guilty as he stands up to say his goodbyes. Lance waves at him from the cooler doors and Justin turns, walking quickly toward Chris's. 

** 

_slow mo in another head trip_

Justin's second March has come and gone when Justin remembers something. He wakes up on Chris's couch, sweaty and clenching Chris's wrist. He turns his body a little and when he closes his eyes again he can see someone. A boy, dark skin and glittering gold in his mouth. He's looking at Justin, mouth open wide in a laugh. He's dancing and moving towards Justin, slowly and Justin can feel himself smiling and he thrusts his hips forward without thinking. 

Justin opens his eyes and lets go of Chris. He moves Chris's arm and carefully stands up. There are three cigarettes and a tiny bottle of vodka on the shelf by the hot plate and Justin picks them up. He carries them over to the partial wall and pulls himself up to sit on the jagged bricks. He isn't sure what he saw. It could have been a dream, but he's never dreamed about anything from before he woke up standing next to Chris. He's pretty sure this is a memory. 

He uncaps the vodka and swallows a small sip before lighting the cigarette. He leans back and looks at the street. No one's out there in the half-dark, but Justin feels like someone's looking back at him. He can't decide what he wants to do, so he just holds the cigarette and watches the tip glow against the sky. Without thinking about it, he pictures the guy again. This time, in a small room, electronic equipment all over the place, music coming from somewhere behind them. A recording studio, Justin knows. Justin's sitting pressed close to the guy, his hand on Justin's thigh under the table. They're talking, but Justin doesn't remember any words, so it's like watching a silent movie behind his eyes. 

There's a noise behind him, a chirping, probably a bird and Justin guesses it'll be morning soon. He takes a drag from the cigarette and it's mostly burned away now, so he stubs it out against the brick and tosses it to the ground. There's only dirt around the house, so he doesn't worry about starting any fires. He lights the next cigarette and sips more vodka. He sits there, drinking and smoking, burning out his throat with both, and he doesn't remember anything else. As the sun comes up, he starts to think maybe it was just a fluke. Maybe his mind is so desperate for something more that it's making up memories. But Justin knows that's not true and he turns around and watches Chris wake up. 

He coughs and stretches. Justin watches his back bow in and his neck bend from side to side. There's a small blur of dark red just over his collarbone and Justin smiles at it. 

"J?" Chris turns around and looks at him, eyebrows raised. "What's wrong?" 

Justin doesn't know what to say. He finishes the vodka and drops the bottle outside, too. He looks at it, sitting there, watches the way the pale morning sun hits it and makes it clearer, cleaner. He hasn't wanted to remember anything in so long and now he feels like he might be sick. Chris walks up and Justin can feel him standing over him. He doesn't look up, but slides over until his leg is pressed against Chris's waist. 

"Did you--" Chris stops and puts his hand on Justin's leg. Justin looks up then, but raises his head slowly, trying to control the dizzy feeling. "You remembered something." 

Justin narrows his eyes and his thigh tenses under Chris's hand. "I thought no one remembered. You didn't, right? All this time, that you woke up first and never remembered anything." 

Chris sighs. "I didn't say that." Justin doesn't respond. It's true, technically, because Trace is the one that said it, but it's still a hollow explanation, so Justin waits. "Just flashes. A guy selling cigarettes in a bar. A tall blonde woman, laughing. This little girl, just a baby really. I don't know why I know them." 

Justin doesn't know who the guy in his memory was, either. There's no name, no voice, just the picture and a sense of affection. If there weren't all this confusion, he'd probably just be smiling. It's a happy memory. Chris rubs his finger over Justin's skin, back and forth, back and forth and it starts to sting a little. Justin licks his lips. "So, nothing that matters?" 

Chris's finger stops, presses into Justin's skin a little. "You," he whispers and Justin's not sure if he heard right. 

"You remembered me?" Justin can't breathe. He never thought about something like that, about knowing anyone before waking up. It seems like it shouldn't be possible, like there should be no one after that was there before. 

Chris closes his eyes and then opens them. "Not like, you. But on a TV, you were singing." Chris shrugs. "That's all." 

Justin sits perfectly still. "When did you remember?" 

"December." 

"When you went away?" Chris nods and Justin scratches at his lip, pulling away a layer of skin. 

He's not sure if this means something, if it changes something. He doesn't want it to and he gulps in air, the rush over his lip soothing. Chris's hand twitches and Justin thinks Chris is about to move it. He remembers the first day, Chris pulling him through the line and handing him a sheet of stamps even though Trace had twice as many as Chris. Chris's hand slides over Justin's skin and Justin starts and grabs it. 

Chris looks at him, eyes wide and Justin smiles. "Was it a happy memory?" 

Chris nods. "I think so." 

Justin nods and slips his fingers between Chris's. "That's good." 

** 

_again and again but you don't really mean it_

It's a party in Steve's back yard and Justin and Chris show up late after everyone else is already crowded in. Trace sees them immediately and runs over, grabbing Justin's arm to pull him out of Chris's grasp. "Man, I never see you anymore. This is the thanks I get for letting you cry on my couch for all that time?" 

Justin waves at Chris, following Trace onto the porch. They hover around the keg until it's their turn and fill the mugs they brought with them. Justin doesn't know how much a keg might cost at the warehouse stores, but he figures Steve stole it or something anyway. The beer is warm because there's no ice, but it still sparks a little as he swallows, loosening his shoulders and neck. He knows beer is supposed to be cold, but he's only ever had it that way once, so it doesn't matter. 

They wonder around and Trace introduces Justin to some people. Steve is sitting on a battered lawn chair at the center of everything, Lynn perched on his lap. He's telling a story and everyone's laughing. He hands Trace two boxes of cigarettes, "no charge." Trace lights a cigarette and gives it to Justin. They listen to the end of the story and nod goodbye. 

Chris has found JC, sitting with some people Justin recognizes from Pharrell's meetings and the donation banks, but he doesn't know them. Except Christina, Justin met her once at Lance's, before he and JC broke up. She's dyed her hair, though, jet black and it takes a minute for Justin to recognize her. She has a pretty girl that Justin's never seen before plastered to her side. He waves, but Christina doesn't notice; she's too busy untying the strings that lace up the other girl's shirt. 

JC stands up, hugs them both. "Guys, it's been forever." 

His hair is longer now and matted together in places. Justin thinks maybe dredlocks. He tries not to frown. "How's everything?" 

JC sits down again and Justin does the same, fitting in between Chris's legs on the ground. Trace sits, too, but he's watching the girls and not listening to JC at all. 

"It's good. We've got some groups together and Steve's still doing the raids and Pharrell's talking to people." JC pauses. "Not that they're working together officially, you know." 

Justin nods, sips his beer and leans into Chris's chest. "Of course not." 

"Did you hear about the stamp office?" JC's eyes are wide and he's talking too fast, Justin thinks. 

"The fire?" Chris rubs at Justin's back, lightly. 

The fire at Lou's biggest stamp office happened two weeks ago. It was four hours after closing, but Britney was there late. Justin keeps thinking he'll visit her in the hospital, but he hasn't. 

JC nods. "The system is completely messed up now. All the lists were in that building." 

Justin coughs. "It just means the warehouses are closed and no one can buy anything." He doesn't really want to know if JC was involved. 

Next to Justin, Trace shifts a little, leaning to the left. Justin looks up and the girl is on the Christina's lap now, head bent and pressed to her chest. This time Christina notices Justin and waves. He grins back. 

JC's explaining how he's going to bring down the system and Justin thinks it's just as boring as ever. He doesn't know who or what the system is. Even Lou is just a guy with a lot of guns. After a minute, Justin interrupts with, "I talked to Lance the other day." 

JC glares at him. "He's working with Joey." 

Justin nods. They've fixed up the whole row of houses and transferred the registrations to other people. Justin went to see and it was weird, a full row of buildings with walls, white and probably paper thin. But in one window there was a little kid looking out at Justin and Lance smiled when Justin pointed it out. Chris said he could probably get them a new place, now that he's working at the registry, but Justin's not sure. He kind of likes their room and he's settled his little bit of stuff in between Chris's. 

"They're gonna register some more places, fix them." Justin finishes the last of his beer and doesn't look at JC. The girls get up and leave, walking toward the house and Trace sighs and flops back on the grass. "They did a lot of work." 

Back when Justin could only remember four months of his life, he had seven and three-quarter pages of things he knew, but they were just things. None of them had anything behind them, no whys or whos. Now Justin knows most of the people at this party. He knows Chris and he knows that Chris likes red Kool-Aid and sometimes green, but never blue, because Justin remembers Chris wrinkling his nose and spitting it out the one time he bought some. Justin knows that it gets colder in September, because it happened, not because the information is stored in his brain. He knows that if someone slides their lips over the right spot on his neck, then he'll have shivers running through his whole body. He knows that behind him Chris is rolling his eyes and thinking about leaning forward to kiss Justin's neck, he knows that Trace has passed out on the ground and that JC will never understand why Lance left. 

JC releases a sharp huff of breath. "You know Lou is in charge of the registry." 

Behind him Justin feels Chris shrug. "So?" 

JC starts explaining, talking about how he knows that one man in control of everything is wrong, knows that people should all have an equal say. Justin listens and he knows it all. He learned it somewhere, just like JC did. But that place doesn't exist anymore. Justin sighs and listens to JC talk about "before" and "equality" like it doesn't matter that the world mostly ended. As if things can be put back the way they were. As if that's the only right way. 

"How do you know all this, C?" Justin asks, his voice louder than he intended. 

JC narrows his eyes, looks unsure for just a second. Justin starts to sit up. Then JC shakes his head. "There are things you just know, Justin. 

Justin slides down to rest his head on Chris's shoulder and looks around at the hollowed out cityscape. JC quotes Pharrell and Pharrell has a plan and Steve knows a guy and after a minute more, Justin stops listening, reaching to steal one of Trace's cigarettes. Justin figures eventually they'll have to do something more than this. Make jobs, fix houses, choose between Pharrell's vision and Lou's or maybe someone else's. Maybe even JC's. But right now, it's like starting from scratch and he can't make decisions based on what something or someone decided not to take out of his head. Right now, he breathes out smoke the same color as the air and shivers when Chris's lips move against his skin.


End file.
